Can't Help Me Now
by akaJB
Summary: "You know what? If you wanna go live in your van, go ahead, Owen," Claire said, resigned, her voice cracking mid-way. "But don't expect me to follow." — Covers their breakup between Jurassic World and Fallen Kingdom.


_So, **Rob Thomas**'s newest album _**Chip Tooth Smile**_ is fantastic, and the moment I heard this song on it, I immediately thought of Claire and Owen and their breakup between JW and FK. Go check out the album, or at least this song. Snippets of the song lyrics are included below, but definitely check out the full song and lyrics, as they all fit so well._

_At least we know the outcome of FK, so they do meet up again and things look like they may work out. But... I couldn't really end their breakup on a happy clawen note, sorry. _😢_ (_Also, before you tell me the line doesn't quite match the one in the movie, I just can't see Claire really saying "like a bum" and feel like that's Owen editorializing._)  
_

**Can't Help Me Now**

"_**Can't hide you're awake already  
**__**You don't even wanna be here do you"**_

x x x

Everything felt normal, peaceful, _right_, when he woke, sunlight streaming through the curtains they'd forgotten to close the previous night. He was curled on his side, Claire tucked in tightly, back to his chest, her head pillowed on his left arm, while his right held her to him, their legs tangled together.

They hadn't fallen asleep like that.

Memories of the previous night rushed back in a tidal wave, overwhelming him, causing his breathing to stutter momentarily. They'd had an argument, he could remember that much. That wasn't unusual, on its own. They were both stubborn people who liked to believe they were always right and always knew best. Arguments were a way of life.

But this hadn't been like the others. There was a new current underlying their arguments recently, ever since Nublar had started popping up in the news again.

It had been easy enough to dismiss at first, even if the headlines had seem ominous: _Volcanic Activity Detected on Isla Nublar_. It's not like it was a total surprise – they'd always known there was a volcano on the island. Hell, it was the main geographical feature of the island, and had been featured heavily in press and marketing materials dating back to the original Jurassic Park.

Besides, back in 2004, there had been a huge uproar when Mount St. Helens had started to show new activity, only for no real eruption (a bunch of steam/volcanic ash releases happened, but not the "Dante's Peak" type explosion that had been initially predicted). Owen assumed there'd be a similar result here. And even if there was a resulting eruption, it wasn't like there were any humans on the island anymore. After Jurassic World, it had been abandoned, the remaining dinosaurs left to fend for themselves. Nublar was also far enough off of the coast of Costa Rica that even an "extinction level" eruption (Owen had rolled his eyes – out of sight of Claire – at the wording) would barely have any noticeable impact, as it wasn't on any major shipping routes or flight paths.

Owen continued to lay there, his eyes closed tightly against the insistent sunlight, trying to forget about the previous evening. Trying to forget how it had been the first time they weren't able to put the argument behind them as they got ready for bed. The first time that they'd both climbed in, backs turned towards the other, neither saying a word, but both clearly hearing what wasn't being said.

Shifting slightly, he tried to squirm further under the covers, not wanting to loosen his grasp on Claire. He wanted to just enjoy the moment. He knew that once they were both awake, they'd have to talk about it. They'd have to figure out a way forward. A compromise. Something.

He let out a slow breath before burrowing closer to her, burying his nose in her hair, breathing deeply. Owen felt her shift in his arms, just a small movement at first, before she stiffened, and he knew that she was awake. He loosened his grip, not wanting her to feel trapped, not wanting to start the day on the wrong foot.

x x x

"_**I don't wanna fight, I don't wanna cry  
I don't wanna leave, I don't wanna be here, be here now"**_

x x x

"I don't get what's so wrong about wanting to be here," Claire said, her voice lacking its normal energy. They had been going in circles all morning, neither able to find a way out of the conversation, a way to resolve it such that they could finally move forward. She was suddenly struck with a memory from a corporate training session years and years ago where someone had made the comment that when you compromise, the goal should be that everyone is equally unhappy about the result. She wasn't sure what that would look like here.

"We have the van, Claire, we bought it for a reason," Owen argued back. "So that we didn't _have_ to be here. So that we could be _anywhere_."

"And we have been, we _were_," Claire stated. "But it's been a year, Owen. We can't keep running–"

"We're not running," Owen interrupted.

"What do you call what we're doing then? Huh? We're definitely not behaving like adults who have responsibilities, jobs, _lives_," Claire replied. "It was fine for a while, but I want, I _need_ more."

"What was so great about all of that? Have you already forgotten what it gave us? Where we ended up? Have you forgotten the months of lawsuits? The funerals, sorry _memorials_, for Zara and Simon Masrani, as it was impossible to recover their bodies? Have you?" Owen ground out. "When else in our lives are we ever going to have this freedom? The ability to do this? What are you in such a hurry to get back to? What's so great about being here?"

"I love you, Owen, I really do," Claire said, but her voice was unsteady, eyes trained on the ground. She took in a shuddering breath, before she looked up, her gaze catching his. "But I need more than this. I loved my work. I know that I can never go back. That door has been more than just slammed shut. It's been welded closed, with a padlock and all number of other obstacles. But I want to do more. I want to _be_ more. I want a purpose again." Her voice had been steadily rising in volume as she spoke, but as she finished, it dropped again. "I don't know who I am anymore."

"You're Claire," Owen said, moving towards her, but stopping when she took a step back. "You don't need work to define you. You're more than a job, than _any_ job. I know who you are. I _love_ who you are."

"Do you? Do you really?" Claire asked. "Because _work_ is part of who I am. I don't want to be defined by it. But I want _it_. I want to do _something_. I want to be _more_. How can you say you love me, when you don't want me to be … me?"

Owen took a shaky step back, looking as if she'd physically struck him, his gaze darting away from hers, and Claire watched as he visibly worked to get himself back under control. "I don't know how else to tell you. To show you." Owen's gaze darted to hers briefly, before it moved away again. "I don't know why you can't ever believe me when I tell you. Why you insist on putting up these… these _walls. _Everytime I think I've got through to you, there's something else I'm doing wrong now. Some new obstacle I have to fight my way through." He looked down at the floor, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, before he finally rested his gaze back on her. "I'm tired, Claire. I'm so tired."

"Me too," Claire said, her voice soft. "I don't know how to fix this, Owen. I don't know how to be what you want while still being me."

"Let's just get away for a while. Escape all this chaos again," Owen begged. "Things were better on the road. Easier."

"We tried that," Claire sighed. "We spent months doing that, Owen. It didn't fix anything."

"There's nothing _to_ fix," Owen insisted. "Nothing's broken."

"_We_ are," Claire cried. "This isn't us, don't you see that? Don't you get that? We're not people who run from life. We don't hide from our problems."

"What problems?"

"Owen."

"I don't get why you need to invent all these issues," Owen said, his voice turning bitter. "Things were good for us, when we lived in the van. It's only been _here_, in _this place_, where we've suddenly had all these problems."

"You know what? If you wanna go live in your van, go ahead, Owen," Claire said, resigned, her voice cracking mid-way. "But don't expect me to follow."

She watched as he froze for a moment, before a myriad of expressions flickered across his face too fast for her to comprehend, before he took a deep breath, before he nodded tightly. "Okay."

Claire wasn't sure what he meant. Wasn't sure how one moment he was standing there, in front of her in their kitchen, and then then next, he wasn't. Wasn't sure if she heard him start up the van, or if her mind just supplied that later, to try to fill in the missing gaps. Wasn't sure what had just happened.

x x x

"_**Headlight, dark highway  
**__**I drive on but it feels all sideways"**_

x x x

Flashing headlights from an oncoming truck startled Owen out of his thoughts. His gaze darted across the road at the approaching vehicle, the rapidly darkening sky as storm clouds gathered above finally catching his attention. The headlights flashed again and it took Owen another moment to realize that he hadn't turned on the vans headlights and he quickly flipped them on, just as the other vehicle passed him by.

He spared a glance over at the clock on the dashboard, surprised to see that it was approaching 7pm. What time had he left their place? His stomach growled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten dinner, or lunch for that matter.

A quick glance at the fuel gauge showed that it was hovering over the red line. When had it dipped below? Did it ding and he missed it? He returned his gaze to the road, now searching for a sign. Any sign. Where was he?

The storm clouds were concealing his view of the sun, so he was feeling extra disoriented, unsure if he was traveling north or east. He knew he couldn't be going south or west, as he would have run into the Mexican border or the ocean by now.

A look to his right and his gaze rested briefly on the passenger seat, _Claire's_ seat. Except, of course, she wasn't there. Had he really left? What happened? He remembered waking up. Remembered, sort of, their fight from the evening before. And remembered starting in on round two.

He remembered feeling drained, the fight taking every ounce of his energy, even though there was very little screaming involved. He remembered Claire's resigned tone, as she told him to go live in his van.

He remembered leaving. Of walking out. Of feeling shocked and scattered and torn apart. Of being unsure of what way was up.

But he didn't really remember anything after that. Didn't even remember getting into the van. Didn't remember pulling out of their driveway. Of leaving the city. Didn't remember picking a direction, a highway.

He just remembered feeling numb.

A sign finally appeared, and he was relieved to find out that there was a rest stop with a gas station 10 miles ahead. Route 99. He was headed north. The van continued to chug forward.

Another glance to his right and he saw his phone, sitting on the passenger seat, the screen dark. Had it gone off? Had he missed a call? Did Claire reach out? He wanted to pick it up, but he forced himself to leave it, to focus on getting to the rest stop.

The van sputtered.

He let himself panic, momentarily, but the van continued forward and another couple of miles disappeared behind him.

Then it sputtered again, and this time, it didn't stop. He guided the van off the road and onto the shoulder, turning on the hazard lights before turning it off. Owen braced his arms on the steering wheel, his forehead coming to rest between them, and he took a few deep breaths. He'd covered at least half the distance from the sign. It wasn't that far. He could walk.

The sound of rain hitting the windshield interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up just as the sky above let loose, a torrential downfall quickly obscuring his view.

He could walk. But maybe, maybe he'd wait this out first.

Owen reached for his phone. He wasn't sure what to think when he found the screen blank, no missed calls, messages, notifications of any kind.

What did it mean?

Of course, he reminded himself quickly, it wasn't like he had reached out either. He opened up iMessage, quickly pulling up his chat with Claire. He meant to message her. He really did. But his gaze got stuck on the last message he'd received from her.

**See you soon.**

x x x

"_**I stumble in the dark, tripping on a heart  
**__**It's gonna leave a mark, maybe we can stay and wait it out"**_

x x x

She lasted two months before the sight of his clothes in the closet, of his toothbrush resting on the edge of the sink, finally became too much. She powered through their place, _her_ place, feeling a bit like a madman, carelessly swiping items off the bathroom counter, pulling his shampoo out of the shower, grabbing his half finished book off the nightstand and piling his clothes into boxes. She taped them shut in a hurry, trying to block out the contents. If she couldn't see them, they didn't exist, right?

Another sweep through her apartment and she halted in front of their… her, fridge. It had been two months but she still thought of the place as theirs. She was struggling to adapt.

Claire had always been about having a clean, orderly place. Owen, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. He liked chaos, he used to tell her. He wanted their place to feel _lived in_, like a _home_, not a magazine shoot. They had compromised, as they had in so many other areas of life, trying to find a middle ground they could both live with. Owen covered their fridge in photos, postcards, momentos, proof of their life together. Claire got her clean countertops, appliances put away when not in use.

She was frozen staring at their fridge, at their _life_, or what had been their life, and she wasn't sure how to react. Part of her wanted to tear it all down. To throw it all away. But another part of her couldn't bear to see it go. For some reason, this felt different. His shoes by the door felt like they were taunting her, waiting for their owner to stroll back in. But the photos, the photos reminded her of the good times, the better times. The times she didn't want to forget. Not yet.

Forcing herself to move, she went back to the living room where she'd piled up the few boxes. She should put them in her car. She could drop them off at Salvation Army in the morning, on her way to work. Bending down, Claire picked up the first box, intent on doing just that. But, instead of heading out, she found herself heading into her guest bedroom and pulling open the closet. Heaving the box upwards, she put it on the shelf, shoving it to the back corner. She repeated the action quickly with the other two.

She knew what Karen would say if she saw her. What Karen _had_ said. That she needed to move on. That Owen wasn't coming back. That sometimes stuff like this happened. That there were other fish in the sea. That Claire just needed to find a new purpose.

Just as she was closing the closet door, the boxes finally out of sight, Claire heard her phone ding with a new message. It had been two months, but still her heart raced, hoping he was reaching out. That he was going to be the one to make the first move.

Claire picked up her phone, disappointed, but not surprised, to see that it wasn't Owen. At least he was still in contact with her nephews, she reminded herself. It could be worse. At least she still got occasional updates, reminders that he was still alive. It may feel like torture, to get those updates, to know that he seemed to be thriving without her, but she wasn't ready to break that tie. Not yet. She had never asked if he asked about her. She didn't want to know. Mind you, she had never specifically asked about him, either.

She opened her text messages, intent on replying to Zia. She had found her purpose. She may be responsible for the dinosaurs being abandoned. But now, now she could also be the one who saved them.

x x x

"_**And we fall, and we break  
And we turn our inside out"**_

x x x

Owen wasn't sure what to do. He had been wandering back and forth across the country for months now, searching for something. What, he didn't know. He kept thinking, hoping, that he'd know when he saw it.

When he'd passed through Wisconsin, he'd picked up Zach and Gray for a long weekend. They'd fished and hiked. They'd rented a boat and had spent an afternoon circling a lake. At the end of the weekend, he'd dropped them off, all three exhausted from their adventures. But he knew it was also from all the careful steps they'd taken, all working hard to avoid any mention of Claire. It wasn't easy, pitfalls appearing everywhere, a reminder of how ingrained into his life Claire had been. Or still was. It was hard to tell some days.

He hadn't talked to her since that day he'd driven off. He'd opened his phone multiple times, intent on following through. On phoning, texting, _something_. But he invariably found himself stuck, unsure what to say, how to start up a conversation again. And then, as the days, then weeks, and then months went by, he found it easier to shift the responsibility. That it was on her to reach out, if she wanted to talk. _She_ had told him to leave, afterall. He was just doing what she asked.

But now, now he felt like he was at a crossroads. Maybe she had been right, that they weren't meant to run forever. That they weren't those type of people. He still couldn't bring himself to consider a city, but he had found himself starting to eye for sale signs as he drove. Debating the merits of a plot of land here versus a plot of land there.

He was driving through the Sierra Nevadas when he saw it. Isolated, but close enough to a small town, with a view of the mountains and looking down on a pristine lake full of fish. He'd dismissed it at first, not sure he wanted to be back there, back in California.

He'd google mapped it. Three hours to San Francisco. Doable in a day. Close, but not _too_ close.

A couple of months after she'd told him to leave, he'd heard the first murmurings about the DPG; an off hand comment by Gray or Zach, he couldn't remember who. He hadn't thought much about it, but then he'd caught it on the news, sitting in a diner in the middle of a small town, channel tuned to some 24 hour news network. There she was, talking passionately about Nublar, about the dinosaurs, and about how she owed it to them to try and save them. He'd looked her up, something he'd managed to avoid doing until then, finding the DPG's website. He'd found himself staring at the picture of her, at how relaxed, how _happy_ she looked.

He hated that his first thought was that she was doing better without him. And that she didn't need him. It had been easier to avoid contacting her after that.

Owen had continued to follow the development of the DPG, wanting to know what she was up to, while also bracing himself every time he looked, worried he was finally going to see evidence that she'd moved on. A ring on her finger. A man at her side. Something. He found him scrutinizing every appearance, until he had to cut himself off. It wasn't healthy. She'd found what she was looking for. It was well past time for him to do the same.

Now, standing at the back of the lot, taking in the view, Owen started to rethink his choices, his plans. Maybe it was time for something more permanent. He wasn't ready to give up his van, but… a homebase. A small cabin he could come back to. Something to give him some roots.

A step back into the real world.

A start.

Maybe.

x x x

"_**You're the one that talks me down  
**__**And even you can't help me now"**_

* * *

_Now that you've read this, and after you take a moment to drop me a review (please _ _), go take a moment to read some of the other writers who are writing. Best way to keep this fandom alive and thriving is to support those still contributing. _

_I'm particularly partial to **Fifty Shades of Grady** by **EliseCollier**, which is a bit angsty, definitely smutty, but mostly a whole lot of fun. It's a twist on their first date with some plant pollen "magic" thrown in. Perfect "beach read" type fic. _

_If you're looking for some intrigue, **Claire-Grady143** has got a new multi-chapter post FK fic centered around "What if Mills survived?" called **Walking Through the Fire**. _

_I haven't had a ton of time to read myself lately, so let me know if there are others I should be checking out and I'll add them to my list._


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